Royce parked a block away and watched Café Mediterranean through binoculars, his gut roiling with fury. His uncle was certainly not trying to be discreet with the row of parked SUVs blocking nearly everything but the red roof. Because they were parked at an angle, none of the bright blue of the umbrellas and wall showed between them, but Royce was familiar with the restaurant. He might have grown up on American cuisine from his mother, but he’d loved the dishes his father had introduced from his family when he’d been young.

No movement showed in the cars, so it looked like Corbin’s entourage was inside with him.

The man hadn’t changed. Always had to make an entrance.

Royce had been twelve the last time he’d seen his uncle, and the memory of his grief and fury at Royce’s father’s funeral had burned the image so deeply into his brain, it almost destroyed other…hard memories. He’d been mostly protected from the Karras family’s activities because he’d been so young, but he’d been a precocious kid who didn’t often do what he was told, and he’d walked into a few iffy situations. One of those had angered his uncle so badly, he’d snatched Royce by the arm to pull him out of a restaurant and broken it.

That was the angriest he’d ever seen his father. Alesandro had broken his brother’s nose that day. And as angry as Royce remembered Corbin being, he had felt bad for breaking his arm. That hadn’t stopped him from threatening worse if Royce talked about what he’d seen in that restaurant. A man, bloody, beaten, and begging for his life.

A man who showed up in the news as missing days later.

Royce set down the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He needed to come across as cool and unaffected in there—not ready to punch through walls. He couldn’t think of one reason why his uncle was causing trouble. Not now. He thought back to the phone call, to Corbin bringing up Marc. The wave of anger and fear that rolled through him made him nauseous. If that man went anywhere near Marc…

The strength of his fury and fear shocked him. Made him realize he couldn’t keep this to himself. Not only should he have called someone in to watch his back, but he should have told Dominic where he was going. It was just not easy for him to trust. To reach out.

He rolled his eyes as he dialed Quinn.

“Hey! How’s the boyfriend gig going?” Quinn’s cheerful voice brought him a small measure of relief.

“Fine.” He didn’t have a lot of time before he was supposed to be in there, so he took a deep breath. “This is very important, Quinn. You know how I never talk about my past?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “Hold on,” Quinn said into the phone before his voice came back muffled. “Can you give me a couple of minutes, Shane? I’ll meet you downstairs.”

More muffled sounds came, including some wet ones that sounded a lot like kissing. He would have smiled if he had the ability then. Quinn’s boyfriend couldn’t keep his hands off the squirt, his friend showing up often after their lunches with swollen lips, red cheeks, and beard burn on that baby chin of his. Royce had also walked in on them a time or two making out—their fault because it was at the office—and the kisses he’d seen had raised his blood pressure. If Quinn didn’t remind him so much of his brother, he would have found them ridiculously hot together.

“Okay, I’m alone so you can talk.”

Warmth filled his chest. Quinn was a good guy. “I don’t even know why I’m calling you. Everything is probably okay, and it’s not like I can’t handle myself.” He paused. “It’s just Marc. He may need extra protection if anything goes wrong.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m about to go in and have lunch with my uncle at Café Mediterranean. I haven’t seen him in more than twenty years. I think maybe our fake articles on the net brought me back into his realm of existence, so I just wanted someone to know where I am.”

“In case what, Royce?”

“I disappear.”

“What the fuck?” There was a crashing noise. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have time to go into it right now.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I only wanted someone to know where I am and…I trust you.”

When Quinn sighed, the affection in the sound made Royce glad he’d called.

“That means a lot to me,” Quinn said quietly. “Do me a favor, and call me when you leave?”

“Sure. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, but you’re going to have some explaining to do after this, so you owe me a night out.”

“Think you can pull yourself away from the dick that long?”

“I’ll somehow manage,” he answered, sarcasm thick. “And stop calling him that.”

“I wasn’t talking about his name this time.”

Quinn’s snort was loud as he hung up.

Royce slipped his phone into his pocket, knowing he’d made that call for more than just safety. He’d needed the reminder that he had a life here. A real life. Once upon a time, he’d expected to be a part of his father’s family in New York. And once upon a time, he’d been an angry, resentful teen because his mother had dragged him away from it. That anger had made him do things he’d be making up for for the rest of his life.

He never quite felt clean. No matter how hard he worked to keep his life that way.

Quinn made him feel things. Not in the way Marc was making him feel things—but he reminded Royce that there were good people out there, people he could care about. Hell, any of the guys at Ward would jump into a deeper friendship with him—they’d all made that plain.

He got out of his car and let the sunny, early spring day soak into him a moment before he squared his shoulders. “Time to get this over with,” he muttered as he strode to the door.

The dim lighting inside the café forced him to stand in the entrance while his eyes adjusted. Six men sat at the tables around the one Corbin had taken and the few patrons left in the restaurant looked visibly nervous as they shot quick glimpses at the group. A seventh man sat in a chair near the door. He stared up at Royce with a casual regard that suddenly changed into recognition, and his mouth started to fall open before he got control and wiped his expression.

Royce didn’t recognize him. Like the other men surrounding Corbin, he looked like a cookie-cutter ideal of every thug seen in movies—big, suited-up, and squinty-eyed. With the death of Royce’s father, his uncle Corbin had taken over the family business. And unlike his brother, who had kept their lives ordinary and under the radar, Corbin reveled in reenacting every mobster movie ever made. He also boasted of his Greek heritage yet didn’t speak a word of the language.

When he finally laid eyes on his uncle, he had to work not to show his surprise. Corbin hadn’t aged well. If his memory served, the man was around sixty-five, but he looked older—and not terribly healthy with the yellow cast to his skin. He still wore a black toupee, having lost his hair young, like most of the men in the Karras family. Royce resisted the urge to check his own hair. At thirty-five, it was still thick and black, but it was a worry he hated to admit having. Thankfully, it seemed he’d inherited his mother’s genes, but he knew it could start thinning any day.

“Ah, my nephew.” Corbin smiled and wiped the sides of his mouth with a napkin. “Sit. I took the liberty of ordering for you. Kebab. You still love kebab like you did as a boy?”

“I do. It’s good here.” He crossed the room and took the seat across from his uncle. He stared, taking in the ways that time had changed him. Wrinkles spanned every exposed stretch of skin, like deeply-etched, intricate roads of hard living, yet his eyes held the same passionate, youthful zest for life Royce remembered from him. He was also still big—over six feet tall. Like Alesandro had been. Royce had inherited his height from his mother’s side of the family as well.

Royce leaned back in his chair, so he could keep all of the men surrounding his uncle in his peripheral vision. He crossed his arms. “Where is my mother?”

“No polite greetings for family, Alesandro?”

He winced at the use of the middle name he’d inherited from his father. “My name is Royce.”

Corbin waved his hand. “I never agreed with the freedom my brother gave his wife in naming her children.”

“It was her father’s name. I like it.” His grandfather had cut his daughter, Cathy, from his life when she’d married into the crime family that scared him. But that hadn’t killed her love for him in the least. His mother had lost her family, then her husband, and one of her sons. She’d never recovered. She fought a daily battle with depression that he couldn’t even begin to imagine fighting. “You have no reason to be going after my mother.”

“Oh, but I do.” Corbin leaned back in his chair, mimicking Royce’s position. “I’ve kept an eye on you.”

“For how long?”

“Since your mother stole you from me.”

“From you? What claim did you have on me?”

“You are a Karras, and your place is with your family. I watched you grow and flourish, saw your teen years when you were such a bad, bad boy. So angry. So surprisingly good with your fists. You later followed in the Karras footsteps. I was so proud.”

He had, and Royce hated thinking about that time. About the things he’d done. Things that had gotten a good man killed. “Let’s get to the point.”

Corbin made a tsking sound. “Your cousins have children, did you know? I’m a grandfather several times over.”

“Congratulations.”

Some of the sparkle left those eyes, but they stayed shrewd as Corbin stopped talking with the food’s arrival. Royce watched as his plate wobbled on its way to the spot in front of him, the waiter’s hand shaking visibly. Royce nodded his thanks.

“You only eat white meat, isn’t that right? Such a healthy boy.”

“I’m not a boy.”

“True.” Corbin leaned forward and pushed his plate out of the way, so he could rest his arms on the table. “Okay, you want it this way? Don’t want anything to do with your family? Then we’ll get down to business. You’re good at what you do. Excellent, in fact. I could have used your particular skills.”

“Is that why you’re here? You want me to do something?”

“I estimate I’ve lost anywhere from 50 to 150 million dollars with your absence.”

He couldn’t help his loud snort of derision. “That’s bullshit.”

“Watch your tone,” his uncle snapped before his lip curled. “I’ve seen who you’re keeping company with these days. Marc Foster has access to things I want.”

Real surprise gave him pause. “Art?”

“I’m a collector, and there’s an empty spot in my home for a special sort of piece.”

“You’re coming to me for art? Why not just go to one of his galleries?”

“Because the kind of art I want wouldn’t be found there, and I have no intentions of buying it. No, this is payback.”

“Let me get this straight. You think because I haven’t been enforcing for the Karras family all these years, I owe you 150 million? And you think there’s a piece of art I can get for you that’s worth that much? Are you suffering from something? Dementia maybe?”

“This isn’t a joking matter. Talk to your boyfriend. He’ll know where to get what I want.”

“He’s not a damn thief, Corbin. And he’s not a boyfriend. You saw the fake name. He’s a client.”

“I am Uncle Corbin to you. Never forget that. And I don’t want Mr. Foster to actually acquire the piece. You’re the one who owes me.”

“I steal for you, and I get my mother back?” He lowered his voice to a growl. “You say you’ve watched me. Did you ever once see me stealing?”

“You’ll find a way to do this thing I want, Alesandro.”

“My name is Royce,” he said through his teeth. “And I owe you nothing.”

“But your mother does. It’s her fault you didn’t grow up working for me. It’s her fault you aren’t a part of the business today. You must get me a work of art in the range I mentioned.”

“Or else what?” He lowered his voice. “Where the hell is my mother, Corbin?”

“Safe. For now.”

“For now? You’d kill the wife of your brother?”

“Without hesitation,” he sneered. “She’s weak. I’d be putting her out of her misery.”

His mother was ill, not weak, but arguing with Corbin would be a fruitless endeavor. He needed to step back, assess this situation, and figure out his next move. He stood, never having touched his food, noting that all of his uncle’s enforcers watched him closely. He was pretty sure a couple of them were cousins, but his memories of them were as children.

It didn’t matter. He’d long ago given up on his stupid dreams of rejoining his family. Long ago realized what his mother had done had left him better off. When he’d been young, he’d repaid her by turning into the very thing she’d tried so hard to avoid. And now he worked to make up for those years by being the best possible person he could.

“You going to get my painting, Alesandro?”

He scowled down at the old man. “We’ll see, Corbin,” he said, knowing his use of his uncle’s first name was a huge insult to him. “In the meantime, if you hurt my mother, you’ll see just how much of a Karras I am.”